


The Unchosen Door

by TashanaAmbrosia



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Loss, Frank Castle and Family, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Frank Castle/Karen Page, The other choice, What-If, what might have been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashanaAmbrosia/pseuds/TashanaAmbrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was home. They were home. They were safe. He was going to get her to take the damn day off to spend with him and the kids, but something just seemed wrong.....<br/>"The horrorcore of what might have been was behind an unchosen door. An unopened, black door marked with a bullet hole and a white skull."<br/>A moment that could have been, about Frank Castle and his family. </p>
<p>Kastle if you really squint, but not necessarily.<br/>Haven't decided if this is a one-shot or not yet.Rating for suggestive situations and Frank's language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unchosen Door

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Daredevil, nor am I gaining profit from this story. These characters belong to Marvel and the respective persons involved in their original creation and their re-imagining.

**Authoress Notes:** I do not know where this came from. I mean I do. My husband says, let’s watch the second season of Daredevil and I’m like, I’m afraid of what the Punisher will look likes. He’s like don’t worry, I saw a clip, he’s good. We start watching and I’m like, I can watch this without being worried, about shipping anyone because they are moving Karen and Matt together and I’m indifferent. The first interaction of Karen and Frank and I make this squeaking noise and my husband says, “Don’t ship Karen with the Punisher. He’s in love with justice, bullet-flavored justice.” He looks at me and laughs, “Too late?” I nod and he hands me my notebook – this is true love, fyi.

This story wrote itself in a few hours. I had a completely different image for it at first, but started typing and this is how it had to be. This is more about Frank and his family then anything. There is ghost of Kastle if you look, but it could be interpreted a number of ways. I hope you guys enjoy this. I’ve been reading a ton of stuff here over the last few days and it’s been amazing stuff.

If you’ve wandered in, because you read my other things, I’m hard at work on those…I promise.

 

**The Unchosen Door**

 

_It was all sorts of wrong_ , is all he could think of when he starts to wake up. He can’t smell gunpowder or sand and the cot he’s lying on is soft and the pillow smells like honey-almond shampoo, like Maria’s shampoo. He draws in a deep breath and opens his eyes allowing them to adjust to the dim light in their bedroom. _God, he was home, he came home yesterday_. No more desert, no more killing, no more scouting at all hours, no more listening to that Irish bastard in his unit who didn’t care about his own son, no more judgmental priest with the weird red hair-styled like…like something weird, no more looking at the medic with the haunted blue eyes that looked at him like he was made of glass, and no more ache from the loss of… _from the loss of_ … His brain feels fuzzy, like something he needed to remember is just outside of his reach. _Something had happened_ , his heart clenches in his chest and he feels light headed as he tries to breathe normally.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay, Baby.” Her voice, comforting voice, pierces through his confusion and suddenly everything was crystal clear.

He is home. Her hand is gripping his. She had held his hand while they slept, just like when they had that crappy apartment with no AC and they wanted to touch, but it was too fucking hot. He rolls over and pins her beneath him, relishing the feeling of her soft curves against his hard lines. She yelps in surprise and opens her mouth to comfort him again, thinking he is lost in a nightmare, but he captures her in a long slow kiss. When she lets go of his hand and wraps her arms around his neck, he smiles against her mouth. He finally lets her up for air and her eyebrow is arched, eyes questioning him silently, but she looks happy, because she can see he’s there with her, completely there. _He’s completely with her, no more loneliness and bitter coffee._

“Take the day off.” He whispers, nudging her nose with his.

Her eyes flash sad for a minute, “I can’t. I have a deadline for the story I’m working on.”

Now he’s confused and he must look it because she repeats, “I have to finish the menus for the Jerry, I promised. The new restaurant is opening next week and I got a deadline. You got your husband ears back already, Marine? You selective hearing doesn’t normally kick in until I mention cleaning out the shed.”

He snorts, he clearly heard her say menus the first time; he’s just still shaking off sleep. He kisses her jawline and pleads into her skin, “Take the day off. Let’s keep the kids home. I want to spend the day with you.”

“Frank.” Her voice is raspy and she grips at his shoulder, as she turns her head and allows him better access to the column of her neck. “Frank!” Her voice now sounds annoyed and he stops immediately. “Frank Castle, it is five in the fucking morning.”

He chuckles, “Sorry. Jetlag.” He re-applies his mouth to her skin and she runs her hands down his chest.

“You’re killing me.” She moans, leg wrapping over his hip.

_God he has missed the feel of her body, the smell of her, the sound of her._

“Seriously, Frank, I cannot take today off, Lisa has a test in math, and Frankie’s got a presentation on the Jersey Devil. Give me one day and we’ll be all yours tomorrow.” She’s moving against him even as she argues.

“Tomorrow’s Friday.” He informs her unbuttoning her sleep shirt. “The park’ll be packed on Friday.” He pulls his shirt off and hisses as her nails drag up his chest. “I want a picnic by the carousel, watch Lisa ride the damn thing ‘til she’s dizzy, and help Frankie feed the stupid pigeons. That picture of us together on the carousel is what helped me remember. It kept me going, Baby… I…”

“Frank.” She’s whining a little as he suckles her breast and her hands go back to his head. “I want to, but God…” He cuts her off with a touch to her core and her hips lift from bed to meet his touch.

“Please, Maria, I want… I need.” He grinding his teeth, because he’s been away too long and he feels like a ghost instead of her husband and a father to their children.

She’s pulling off her remaining clothes and pinches his hips to signal he’d better start doing the same. Two kids, work, and the military, make signals and secrets important if you want to keep your lover happy.

He’s inside her and he’s really home. His tears hit her shoulder as they move together and he whispers apologies for not being up for this last night. She shushes him telling him to make her remember why she lets him back in their bed. He barely holds on long enough for her to find release and while that’s their normal after he comes back from a tour it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He starts kissing down her stomach and she stops him by tugging on his ear.

“I need a shower.” She stretches her arms over her head and glances at the clock. “Kids are going be up at 6.”

His eyes stray to the clock: 5:40. He grunts and tries again, but she pushes at him with her toes. “If you call in, you can go back to sleep.” He points out and offers, “I’ll cook breakfast for you and the kids.”

“’Cause, I want my kitchen to look like Mother’s Day disaster of 2012.” She slips out from underneath him, but grabs his hand to pull him into the bathroom with her.

“Never gonna let that go are you?” He shakes his head as she starts the shower and tests the water temperature.

“Frank, there were raspberry stains on the ceiling.” She giggles as they tumble into the shower together.

“I got it clean.” He counters and sighs involuntarily as the hot water hits his skin.

They don’t speak as they wash each other and enjoy the quiet of just being in the same space. He’s never been one to keep his hands off her for very long and he spends his time at home making up for the time he’s gone. So, he’s pushed her up against the shower’s tiled wall, with his fingers inside of her, when a quiet knock raps against the door. 

“Momma?” Lisa’s sleepy voice is muffled by the door.

“Yes, Sweetie?” Maria answers as her face turns scarlet red. He wishes he had a camera, been years since he’s seen her blush like that. “Momma’s in the shower. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just hungry.”

The handle jiggles and Frank thanks every god he can think of for remembering to lock the door. Maria’s trying not to laugh and he’s about to join her when…

“Where’s Daddy?”

His heart is ripped out, because he knows Maria’s heard this questions a thousand times, but before he can be appropriately sorrowful about it his wonderful wife, who occasionally has no filter between her brain and her mouth, answers honestly.

“Daddy’s in the shower with me.” They look at each other, both horrified and trying not to laugh at the same time, hands clamped over mouths and all sexual tension out the window. Maria holds up three fingers and starts a countdown and as she gets to one Lisa questions through the door.

“Why?”

“Because we’re trying to save water, Bug.” He spits out before burying his face in Maria’s shoulder.

“That’s weird.” Her matter-of-fact tone is priceless. “I’m not taking a bath with Frankie, he stinks.”

Maria’s whole body is shaking uncontrollably with the hilarity of the situation. “Lisa, you don’t have to. Go downstairs, we’ll be down for breakfast in few minutes and then Daddy’s gonna walk you and Frankie to school today.”

“Okay.” Thumping feet retreating away from the door allow the couple to finally laugh out loud.

He’s sad that he’s not getting his way, but the joyful moment they just shared makes it worth it. “Tomorrow.” He reaches around her and turns of the water, staying in her space. “Tomorrow, no school, no work and no nothing that isn’t our family together.”

She kisses him quickly and they hurry around like a normal couple trying to get themselves and their kids ready for day.

_It’s as if no blood and no war ever touched them, any of them. As if the horrorcore of what might have been was behind an unchosen door. An unopened, black door marked with a bullet hole and a white skull._

 

.:.

She walks in after 6:30, apologizing for being so much later then she planned as she pulls off her heels. She’s asking about the kids, did they eat; and how she woulda been home quicker if they kid at the print shop hadn’t been _medicated_. He’s hearing her whole banter as a low buzz in his ears, but he’s nearly tackled her, crushing her in a hug and kissing her over and over. She’s here. She’s safe and the kids are watching cartoons in the living room and _they are all safe_.

“Frank?” Concern pours out of her in buckets, as he clings to her desperately. He knows she’s thinking that he had some kind of flashback and she needs to pull him back, but he has no words to counter her suspicions. “I’m here. It’s okay, Baby. Frank, I’m right here. Shh. Shh.”

He kisses her again and again. He hears the kids behind him, Frankie complaining it’s gross and Lisa hushing him.

Maria breaks away and looks over his shoulder at their perfect, beautiful, _living_ children. “Lisa, you and Frankie go upstairs so Mom and Dad can talk, okay.”

Lisa’s always been his girl, a little soldier in training, and so much so that it hurts. Despite the don’t-touch-me complaints he hears the kids thump up the stairs in a rush.

Maria maneuvers both of them to the couch and she holds him as they rock back and forth. He clings to her, _like he’ll die if he lets go_. He’s not crying, just gasping for air and clinging to her like one of their kids and as much as he hates it he can’t stop. She’s his life line, whispering into his ear all of their good memories, thinking she’s trying to get him out of the desert. After he feels like he can breathe again, he lessens his hold and cups her face in his hands.

Her brown eyes are lighter than his. Frankie has her eyes, soft and expressive, but Lisa has his eyes darker brown and depthless, Maria called them once. Her blonde hair had darkened after Frankie was born and she dyed it the lighter color to match what her natural color used to be. He could see the darker roots grown out near her scalp and the make-up that she’d applied this morning is smudged. _She is so beautifully… alive._

“Are you with me, Baby?” She asks running a hand over his head.

He clears his throat, not trusting his broken voice. “Yeah, I’m here. Il Innamorato…” The only Italian that he remembers rolls off his tongue, calling her sweetheart in a way that he normally reserves for only for their bedroom. He swallows hard, and releases her face to clasp her hands.

Maria is patient, and she sits still waiting for him to speak again. Her eyes are filled with tears, but none of them fall.

“There was a shoot-out at the park.” She gasps in alarm, but he forces himself to continue. “It was a couple of gangs, and the news didn’t report much on it, but I saw…. I saw a picture of the carousal in the background and… Maria, we would’ve been right there with the kids. I woulda turned my back to get hotdogs and you and the kids woulda been bloody and gone.”

“No, no.” Maria clutches his hands with an intensity has hasn’t felt since Lisa was born. “We are fine. We are here. No war for you to fight here, Frank. Are you listening? You stay with me.” She wraps her arms around him and whispers more words of comfort.

After an eternity, he starts to feel the exhaustion and her stomach growls. They chuckle and he kisses her again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She smiles and wipes the tears from her cheeks. “No more complaining about my boss when he’s demanding. I think we owe him a ham or something.”

“Something.” He echoes and pulls her up from the couch. “Go eat, I got the kids.”

He plays ball with his son in the yard and while Frankie can’t throw for shit, the kid’s got an eye for the ball and he hits like a mini-Major leaguer. He smiles and laughs with his son at bath-time and hides his disappointment when Lisa asks for Maria to give her bath instead of him. She’s getting older, to be expected. He puts his son to bed and watches him fall asleep for the first time in ages. He brushes by Maria in the hallway and she pinches his hip and winks; he’s about to follow her, when he hears his girl…

“Daddy, can you tuck me in?” Lisa’s sitting up in bed clutching _that_ book. “You promised tonight.”

Maria pecks his cheek and he walks into his girl’s bright happy room. There are more pictures on the walls and more books on the shelves then last time. He sits on her bed and gathers her up in his arms and he starts to read, “One batch, two batch, penny and a dime…” He’s not sure why, but he cries as he’s reading. He finishes the book, wipes off his cheeks and pulls the covers up to Lisa’s chin, she’s smiling at him.

“Go to sleep, Bug. No reason to be up. We’re gonna have the best day tomorrow.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too.” He kisses her forehead and it takes him five minutes to pull himself away from her doorframe.

 

.:.

 

Suddenly the world is rewinding, like an old VHS tape with skips and static. He’s not tucking Lisa in, he’s not playing ball with Frankie, he’s not making dinner waiting for Maria to come home and there is this dread that is over taking him. His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s gonna rupture; his back’s on fire and his head is throbbing. Everything is wrong. His nostrils flare and all he can smell is gunpowder, antiseptic and lavender.

He’s losing the day of wandering around the city and being grateful for his wife’s dedication to the little restaurant that she works at. He’s losing the relief of knowing that he and his family weren’t at that park during that massacre. He’s losing walking his kids to school and the feeling of their small hands in his large ones. He’s losing the memory of pancakes, juice and bacon in the kitchen with his family. He’s losing the laughter in his throat at his daughter’s questioning of the shower that he took with his wife. He’s losing the sensations of his wife’s skin entwined with his in the early morning hour before the kids wake up. He’s losing the disappointment in Maria telling him they have to wait a day.

 

_And where those memories are fading, new ones are taking their place. Memories he’s not so sure that he wants back._

 

He’s remembering her laughter the morning as he tries to pounce on her, _let me make up for last night_. He’s remember the back and forth banter about taking a day off and how her job can wait, _please I need to make up for being tired._ He’s remembering her giving in, threatening that if she gets fired its on him, _I need to spend time with you._ He’s remembering seeing 6:05 on the clock and the kids jumping into bed with them, _I need them too._ He’s remembering the pinch on his hips and the word ‘tonight,’ _I need you._ He’s remembering the squeals of joy about no school and a trip to the park, _I need to remind myself I’m not at war._

He’s remembering turning to get hotdogs and smell of gunpowder, _I need to protect them._ He’s remembering blood and screams and pain… his son’s body covered by his murdered wife who tried in vain to protect him in her last moments, and his daughter with no face… and _crack_ into his skull, _I need to die_. And a rush of memories of gunning down those responsible, fighting with Red, meeting Fisk, blue pained eyes and bullets…. _So many bullets._

 

.:.

 

He comes to with a roar and there are four hands trying to hold him down and two just trying to hang on to him. He throws-up a mix of blood and bile, because it’s just too much. They are all dead. He’s dead. He’s lost everything. He can hear screaming and someone yelling about how he’s going to bust open all of his stitches. The word ‘sedative’ spikes somewhere in the buzz of voices, but he barely hears it over the voice screaming his family’s names. _Oh that’s him._ He feels a pick in his arm and his world starts to go dark again. _No, no I can’t sleep again. They’ll be there and they’re not here_.

The pair hands that had been hanging onto him for dear life were pulling him back from the edge of what must have been a bed. Arms wrapping around him and rocking him gently, but that grip is fierce, fighting for him not against him. “Shh. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. Stay with me.”

The smell of lavender instead of honey-almond is all he can make out and his world goes black again.

 

.:.

He sees Red when he wakes up. Not the color or feeling of rage, but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Red’s back is to him and he’s talking to a dark-skinned girl in scrubs, who looks a mix of annoyed and accepting of the situation. He’s hurting everywhere and there’s an IV in his arm, but he can’t piece anything together yet. He’s propped up on pillows and there is a body in bed with him. The law-girl, turned reporter is on the bed next to him, squeezing his hand, even though she’s obviously asleep.

He tries to pull his appendage free, but she mutters, “No, Matt. Not leaving him. Saved me.”

Red’s in front of the bed now, starring at him intently; he can feel his eyes behind the mask. “You awake?”

He nods not trusting his own voice.

“You need to be still for a while. You shielded her from some thug. He shot you six times in the back. You were dead for three minutes.”

“Beat my record.”

The girl in scrubs scoffs at him and takes his pulse commenting dryly. “It’s not a competition.” He likes her instantly, in that professional, you know how to handle whatever shit falls in your lap, kinda way.

He shrugs his free shoulder, big mistake, it hurts like a bitch. “Did I get him?”

Red looks away and crosses himself.

“Good.” The guilty response of the alter-boy is good enough for him. “She hurt at all?”

“Not really, probably pulled a muscle or two dragging your heavy ass in from the fire escape. Other than that,” She took off the bloody gloves with a snap and dumped them in the trash beside the bed, “she’s the picture of health for a reporter in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Claire.” Red scolds her and she waves him off.

“Nope. He’s stable and I’m going to bed. It’s a long way to Harlem at this time of night.”

Red walks out with Claire without another word. He looks back at Maria…. _NO. That’s Karen_. He remembers the argument about her source on her fire escape and the click of a gun’s safety. He remembers shielding her, hoping the Kevlar will absorb most of the impact, but it hadn’t. He wasn’t wearing it, it needed to be repaired and he wasn’t _working_ that night. He didn’t shoot the attacker, the realization hits him hard. Karen had pulled the .380 out of her purse and put one in the guy’s skulls. He winces, because he knows that’s gonna follow her forever. _I’m sorry, Ma’am._ He hopes Red thinks he did it, because he doesn’t want Red to look at her the way he looks at him.

The drugs are pulling at his consciousness again, but he’s quietly fighting it. He’s tempted to tell the sleeping girl about his dream, but Red’s too close and it’s already fading into oblivion. Karen’s out of harm’s way for the moment and… He’s glad she’s okay. And that’s enough for this moment, but he really wants coffee and for some weird, unexplainable reason, raspberries.

 

 

**A/N:** Hope you guys liked it. I would love to hear your thoughts on this. I think I got his voice, but I’m not 100% sure. Thank you for reading 


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